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Saturday, September 15, 2012

Winning Entries from the 500 Word Free Write Part 1

By Deborah Rocheleau, first place

"Assurance is peace.
Assurance is resolve. And it starts at an affordable $600. If your loved one is
suffering from a life-threatening illness or facing a major decision, give them
the gift of a definitive future. A qualified researcher will create a custom
forecast using the latest time-bending technology, giving you the peace of mind
to enjoy your life. Because a life Assured is a life lived.”

The commercial, coming through fuzzy on
the hospital TV, switched to testimonials by terminally-ill children, depressed
teens, and jittery brides. Sandy pressed the button that administered another
dose of pain-killer, desperate to escape the sappiness of the ad, as well as
the embarrassing reality that, despite its gags, it worked. She needed
Assurance if she wanted to keep herself alive.

Kay continued to hum the maddening theme
song, even after Sandy muted the TV and buried her head under the covers to
block the noise. Her arms gave up halfway through the action, too weak to compress
the stiff pillow.

“884-303-NOW,” Kay sang, probably unaware
of her own voice. The illness didn’t drive you crazy, Sandy decided. The
boredom of the hospital room did. Glancing at the peeling paint on the walls,
she tried to forget about the phone with the curlicue phone next to her. She
could pick it up and call the number, going against every unspoken protocol of
Assurance Agencies. You couldn’t buy Assurance, at least not for yourself.
Because no matter the price, you could never be sure the
answer would come back the way you wanted. Even after future forecasting had
been perfected as a science, the custom arose that no one bought it for
themselves. No, your loved one had to buy it for you. Then, whatever the
outcome, you could rest assured that someone at least cared what happened to
you.

Kay sobered right up when the nurse
announced a visitor. Patrick, her boyfriend, or maybe a young,
commitment-challenged husband, entered with a dominating bouquet of roses,
their perfume-laced fragrance stuffing Sandy’s already itchy nose. He offered
them to Kay, and the gift gave her the miraculous strength to sit up and bury
her face in the blossoms.

“Well,” Patrick said, hovering over her as
she lay in the bed. She met his eyes, smiling.

“A bouquet of flowers won’t get you off
the hook, mister,” She said.

He didn’t answer, but nodded his head at
the blooms. Glancing down, she pried an envelope out from among the thorns, its
familiar telescope emblem glinting.

“Oh, Patrick,” she gasped, stopped up by
tears.

“I had to know,” he said, cradling her
head. “I couldn’t live with this fear anymore.”

Patrick pulled the card out of the
envelope and read the official letter within.

“This letter is to assure that Michaela
Alexandria will recover from her cancer in the year 2210.”

The judge says:This is…wow! What a Pandora’s box you’ve opened up here. A really nice beginning to what should prove to be an intriguing story.

By Clare Kolenda, second place

When you’re the pastor’s daughter, there are some assumptions that people naturallydraw. One is that I always carry my Bible around. The second one is I have a great relationshipwith my family and God. And thirdly, that I’d never do anything that would land me in the police station.

Unfortunately, none of those are true.

I sat in the lobby at the police officers station, swinging my feet. I’m wondering how oldshe is or how short she is. If she’s sitting on a chair or bench, wouldn’t her feet touch the ground?

I stared at the clock, watching the clock slowly tick by the minutes until my mother picked meup. After my father had died our relationship had been strained at best. And my recent tripsdowntown hadn’t helped.

What would my father have said? I swallowed past the lump in my throat and ignoredthe sudden burning in my eyes. Now was not the time to think about my dad. I folded my armsacross my chest, weariness crashing against me so hard I had to close my eyes. Dread coveredme like a heavy wool blanket, slowly suffocating me.

The whir of activity in the room distracted me for a moment. Frazzled interns scurriedaround while they pulled different files out of the dozens of file cabinets that stood in the room.The fluorescent lights hummed in the background, while a fly buzzed near my face. I swished itaway, almost hitting myself in the process.

“Hey, Trouble, long time no-see,”

Devon, one of the newest recruits to the force walked toward me with a little too muchbounce to his step for my liking. For some reason he decided to befriend me after the—ahem—third time I’d landed at the station. Not that I minded. He always snuck me coffee when I needed it, and made me laugh when I craved it most.

“I came here just to see you, Dev,”

He plopped down next to me. “Now, Darlin’, I can think of a few better ways to meet upthan like this.”

I chuckled softly, studying the crinkles that appeared around his eyes when he grinned.

Devon looked like a gangster with his large muscles, square forehead and strong jaw. His nosehad been broken too many times to be straight again, and the scar by his temple made him lookeven scarier. Yet once he smiled it contradicted the tough guy façade that he exuded.

His dark brown eyes, the ones that intimidated thugs and drunks, now warmed withamusement as they swept up and down me. “You going for a new look?”

I looked down at myself and knew I must have looked like a mess, covered in spray paintand smelling like my friend’s old musty car. I grimaced.

Devon laughed, “You always were a trendsetter, Trouble.” He nudged me. “And you’retoo smart to keep playing this same sad song over and over.”

I looked down. Dev wouldn’t understand. What else would help fill the hole that hadbeen gnawing at me since my father died?

The judge says: Love this beginning! This is a character I would want to read about.

WOW! Rachelle, Deborah, and Clare: You three have an incredible gift for writing! If these are ever published as complete novels, I will buy them. I'm actually kind of depressed that I can't read any further! GREAT job!

Awesome job, guys. I am so devastated now...I shouldn't read any more contest entries. xD I hate series books because you have to WAIT for the ending, but contest entries that don't necessarily HAVE an ending--that's too much!!! ;)